


Rewrite the Stars

by cleo4u2



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Fix It Fic, M/M, Period Typical Homophobia, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Recovering!Bucky, a dash of angst, cap!steve - Freeform, loads of fluff, post Captain America: Civil War scene, pre-war!Bucky, pre-war!Steve, schmoopy nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 20:53:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14881019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleo4u2/pseuds/cleo4u2
Summary: There are four things Bucky Barnes knows will never change: Steve Rogers is the best man he’s ever known, Bucky Barnes is madly in love with Steve Rogers, and Steve Rogers is head over heels for Bucky Barnes. Sometimes, they need reminders.





	Rewrite the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Fic inspired by "Rewrite the Stars" from The Greatest Showman
> 
> All hail [NurseDarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry/profile)! All hail, my beta, the Glow Cloud!

With the Depression hitting everyone hard, there are few constants in Bucky Barnes’ life. The job at the docks could go at any time. His parents might or might not help him out, since he’d moved out against their will to shack up with his best friend, Steve Rogers. Steve is liable to get sick - or his heart might give out, or his lungs might seize up - and lose the fight to keep going. The boiler could give out, their rent could go up, or the building could even catch fire. The Depression has taught him that anything that can go wrong will, eventually. But there are a few things he’s sure of:

Steve Rogers is the best man he’s ever known.

Bucky Barnes is madly in love with Steve Rogers.

Steve Rogers is head-over-heels for Bucky Barnes.

The problem, Bucky muses as he stands on the fire escape and watches the smoke of his cigarette drift into the Brooklyn night, is that Steve is stubborn enough to ignore these facts in light of one other: their love is illegal. 

For a year now they’d lived together, and for that entire year Steve’s passions had fought like cats and dogs. There’s Steve’s love for him, pure and beautiful. But then there’s the shame, from when Father Riley had said two men laying together were bound for the flames of Hell, and the fear, that they’d be caught, hauled off to jail, or just beaten to death in an alley. 

The first time the darker emotions had taken over, Steve pulled away from him, told him to go out, find a dame. It would be lying to say it hadn’t hurt to hear, but Bucky had his pride. He’d gone out, like Steve’d ordered him to. He’d found Clara, and they’d danced the night away. Then Bucky had learned the another constant about his life: Steve Rogers is a jealous punk.

When Bucky had stumbled home, Steve had sniffed that perfume and - after a sneezing fit - dragged Bucky to bed for the best sex of his life. 

When they were done, lying sweaty and tired in each others’ arms, Bucky had said, “I thought we were a sin,” because it still hurt that Steve had claimed not to want him.

“Shut up,” Steve had grumbled, then sighed as he shifted until his crooked back was more comfortable, “Maybe I can’t fight the devil I got in me.”

Bucky laughed.

“That’s the dumbest thing I think you’ve ever said.”

“Jerk.”

“Punk.”

“Idiot.”

“No way,” Bucky had pulled Steve to him tighter, “you just proved you’re the idiot.”

Steve smiled against Bucky’s shoulder.

“I can’t quit you, Buck. No matter if I should.”

Warmed, but not quite ready to forgive, Bucky had said, “I love you, too, you blithering idiot,” and they’d slept soundly that night.

It hadn’t been the last time Steve had left him, though. The truth was that Steve couldn’t quit him, and Bucky loved him for his passions, even when it hurt. By his count, this was the fifth time. The fifth time Steve had heard something to set off his moral compass, like their love was evil, and had shoved Bucky away. It hurts every damn time, but it will pass. It always passes.

Though… this time has gone on the longest. Five days since that kid had been killed down the street. Five days since Steve had insisted they couldn’t be together, that ‘they’ would kill Bucky. Bucky can still hear his ridiculous argument like Steve is saying it now.

 _“It doesn’t matter how much I love you!”_ Steve hissed, since shouting was out of the question with the tenement’s thin walls. _“It’s bad enough we live in Brooklyn. It’s bad enough you live with me. The things they say already - I will not be responsible for ruining your life!”_

Stubbing out his cigarette on the iron banister, Bucky pops another out of its pack and pauses. The wooden building groans, the fire escape creaks, and Steve crawls out the window at his back. He swings his legs over the edge, leaning against the iron like Bucky so they can see the entire street, still bustling with people coming and going to the shops that occupy the first floors of the entire block.

Steve doesn’t say anything, just pulls out his own asthma cigarettes and lights one before lighting Bucky’s. Bucky lets him, knowing it’s a ploy to get in his good graces, and hoping it means Steve is done with their break-up. He’s told Steve before that there’s something intimate about this moment; Steve’s hands, so close to his mouth, Steve’s body, so close to his own, leaning in, focusing on Bucky’s breath. Bucky puffing, quick and short, to get the flame to catch quicker. Then, that final moment, pulling the cigarette away while they’re still so close, breathing the same air.

It would be so easy to lean in, complete the moment with a kiss.

It would be suicidal to end the moment with a kiss.

“You still sore at me?” Steve asks, breaking eye contact.

Irritation flares in Bucky’s chest.

“You done pretending we’re not made for each other?”

“Bucky…”

“Don’t you ‘Bucky’ me,” Bucky interrupts. He knows all Steve’s arguments, he doesn’t need to hear them again. “I told you, you come talk to me when you’re done with this fool notion of yours.” Bucky huffs, glaring out at the street, brilliant yellow with the electric lights the city had installed last year when people still had money. “You worry so much about me dying when I’m not doing any living without you. You’re the other half of me, Steve.” He pokes Steve in the shoulder, but doesn’t look over, taking advantage of Steve’s unusual silence to fully make his argument. “There ain’t nothing you can do about that, and there sure as hell ain’t no devil making me love you.”

For once, Steve doesn’t say anything. He puffs at his cigarette, staring at nothing when Bucky glances at him. Despite how often he’s told Steve to shut up, it isn’t like he’d listened. There’s always something Steve wants to say. He doesn’t look to be coming down with anything, though, so Bucky isn’t sure what his reserve is about. 

Normally, Bucky would find out what’s wrong. Normally, he would tease Steve until his best guy smiled. Normally, he would put his entire being into chasing away Steve’s melancholy. Today, he’s hurt and angry, and if Steve wants to brood, Bucky will let him.

The sun is setting, Steve’s cigarette long gone while Bucky is working on his third, when the punk finally says, “I hate hurting you.”

“Me, too,” Bucky says, not about to let Steve off the hook. 

“I do love you -”

 _“But,”_ Bucky acidly adds for him.

“-but,” Steve confirms quietly, “if you died -”

“Welcome to my life,” Bucky snaps. Steve has his passion and Bucky has his pride, and in moments like this, the two collide spectacularly. “Except it’s _when_ you die, Steve. Assuming, by some fucking miracle, you don’t catch the wasting sickness like your mom -”

“Bucky!” Steve hisses. 

“-your heart will give out, and when you die,” Bucky goes on, digging the knife home, “I’ll be left to remember all the times you decided we weren’t worth it. That _I_ wasn’t worth it.”

Now as hurt and angry as Bucky, Steve yells, “You can’t just rewrite the stars, Barnes!” Then he catches his volume and stabs a finger Bucky’s way, as if that makes up for his inability to shout. “Face the facts, the whole world is against us. The _entire_ world!”

“ _I_ am not against you!” Bucky says, catching Steve’s stabbing hand. “A few idiots, a few jackasses, and one day they’ll be able to see that this,” Bucky gestures to the space between them, to the feelings Steve fights, but can’t escape, “is forever. That it’s not _evil_. Evil can’t love this strong.”

Steve’s throat bobs, and for a second as his blue eyes shine in the street lights, Bucky thinks he’s reached him. Then he pulls his hand free and shakes his head.

“You think, that because we can be free when we’re alone here,” he gestures to their tiny apartment, “that we can be free. But we both know what would happen if you kissed me here, where people can see. But we can’t, and hope and dreams aren’t going to change that.”

“No,” Bucky agrees angrily, “but spite and spit and vinegar might.” Aching, because Steve is denying them - him - again, he says, “I always loved you because you’d never back down from a fight, but you give up on us like it doesn’t matter at all.”

“It’s not giving up,” Steve’s eyes shine brighter, tears growing, but refusing to spill over, “it’s _protecting_ you.”

“Right,” Bucky laughs, “and two months ago it was saving my soul. I got news for you, Stevie, you can’t save me. You can’t protect me. It’s _my_ choice to love you, and if I decide we’re meant to be, there’s nothing you can do - there’s nothing _the world_ can do - to stop me.”

“Bucky -” Steve starts again and Bucky is done, he’s so done.

 _“Nothing,_ ” he says again, stubbing out his cigarette and heading for the window. He’s too wound up, too tight. He needs to dance, to forget, and he can’t do that here, waiting for Steve. 

He makes it halfway across their living room before slim hands wrap around his wrist and yank. Bucky could pull away - Steve isn’t very strong - but he lets them pull him about. He let’s Steve pull him down into a kiss, because those tears have fallen, tracing soft paths down Steve’s face, and Bucky aches to see him crying. No matter how angry he is, how hurt, he loves Steve, and Steve’s pain is his pain.

Later, when Steve’s pulled him into bed and whispered apologies against Bucky’s skin, Bucky cuddles his fella close and says, “I’m gonna show you one day. Gonna show you. Gonna rewrite our stars, darling, because you’re always gonna be mine.”

\----

CH2

After everything - seventy years with Hydra, trying to kill Steve multiple times, hiding for two years, the Accord bombing, and the fallout with the Avengers - Bucky is pretty sure Steve has no idea that he remembers _them_. Rather, what they had been to each other before the Alps, the train, and the fall. The memories of Steve’s lips, his skin, his laugh, they buzzed in the back of his head before cryo, after cryo, but Bucky hadn’t been ready to face them. He’d not been worth it, especially when Steve had seemed to be moving on with that blonde agent. 

Then Shuri had helped him find himself, some peace, and a path to recovery. It came with hard work, a therapist, and surprisingly little meddling inside his brain. But it had also come with the realization that he’d been pushing Steve away, and Steve… Well, Steve had let him. Maybe it’s the shame and fear again, or maybe it’s Steve being a little too self-sacrificing, but Bucky remembers the way Steve looked to him right after that kiss with the agent. Like he’d been gauging Bucky’s reaction. Like he’d he’d been trying to make Bucky jealous with the smell of a girl’s perfume.

Truth be told, Bucky has no idea what Steve wants, or if he’s waiting for some sign from Bucky. The unfortunate fact is that there is only one way to find out, and despite his anxiety, Bucky asks Shuri to contact Steve and invite him to visit. It will be their first where Bucky feels like _Bucky_ , or at least connected to his own past. He will never be that man from 1942, but that’s true for everyone. Bucky doesn’t want to try to be anymore. 

He hopes Steve feels the same.

Bucky likes farm work. When the herd had the first kids, he was hooked: Bucky is a farmer. His father is probably rolling over in his grave at the fact. And Steve, _he’s_ in for a shock, but Bucky loves this life. Truth be told, Bucky’s not sure if Shuri had meant it as a joke, or if it was his therapist’s idea, but taking over a goat farm was cathartic. The hardy little buggers are difficult as hell to kill, smart and wily, want nothing more than to be dry and warm, and don’t need twenty-four hour care. His herd of twelve (and growing) keep him busy, but not enough that he doesn’t have time to himself, or to wander about Wakanda’s capital, or prepare for Steve’s visit.

The day Steve is scheduled to arrive, Bucky works as much as he can. Maybe it isn’t the best idea - he ends up sweaty, covered in dirt and goat stench - but he can’t just sit on his hands. The house, a small thing that reminds him of the tenement with Steve, is spotless. There’s food ready for lunch and dinner, and he can’t focus enough to read, or otherwise distract himself. Soon Steve will see Bucky, see the life he’s trying to make for himself, and (hopefully) become a part of it, at least as much as Steve, who never backs down from a fight, can be. Even as a fugitive, Steve’s been trying to save the world, but had agreed to a visit, once he had some down time. 

Bucky doesn’t think he would ever ask for more… except that Steve hurry up and _get here_.

While Bucky’s transferring a stack of hay the goats haven’t eaten to the small pen for sick, or birthing goats, Steve announces himself with a shocked, “Wow.”

Though Bucky spins quickly, he feels almost shy standing before Steve in his Wakandan robes, hair pulled back because he can’t decide if he wants to cut it or not. Maybe it’s that he’s only got one arm, or that he smells like goat, or that Steve is clean and gorgeous. Whatever it is, he barely manages a gruff, “Shut your yap.”

For not seeing each other for six months, two before that (and that whole thing about his death being greatly exaggerated), the rude greeting gets Steve to smile. It’s slow, but brilliant and warm, and Bucky loves it. Feels dizzy, really, seeing the man he loved (loves?) look at him that way.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says and strides the few feet between them to wrap Bucky up in a hug. It’s tight and warm; Steve envelops him in his long, strong arms as if he doesn’t smell like goat and sweat, and holds on tight. Bucky drops the pitchfork to wrap his only arm about Steve’s waist and hold on just as fiercely.

For long minutes the goats bleat, the wind sets the trees rustling, and neither of them moves. Bucky doesn’t want to. Steve is strong and warm, despite his enhanced muscles, but what really does him in is that Bucky can hear Steve’s heart. With his head tucked into the crook between Steve’s neck and shoulder, the strong rush of each beat throbs in his ear. A reminder that Steve is here, Steve is alive, and Bucky is right here with him. No matter how impossible it is, they are together.

“I missed you,” Steve says just before pulling back. 

Bucky smiles.

“I told you I was taking us to the future, didn’t I?” Steve blinks in surprise and Bucky can’t quite blame him. It’s only the third time they’ve ever spoken of their shared past, and the first time Bucky’s done so voluntarily. To cover the brief, awkward silence, he adds, “They actually have flying cars here.”

That gradual, bright smile spreads over Steve’s entire face again.

“Yeah. They did promise those.”

“Damn right.” Bucky claps Steve on the shoulders. “So, you were saying about my farm?”

“I, um…” Steve flushes, probably remembering the manners Sarah had crammed into his thick skull. “It’s… unexpected.”

“Nice recovery,” Bucky teases. “I like it. It’s… nothing I’ve ever done before.”

“A new life,” Steve says. The melancholy in those three words makes Bucky’s heart ache and he wants Steve’s smile back.

“Why do you think I asked you to come?” he asks quickly. “Can’t have a life without you, Stevie.”

Bucky doesn’t get a smile, but the sadness vanishes when Steve freezes. For a moment he does an impression of a goldfish, his mouth opening and closing, before he straightens and takes a half-step backward. If it hadn’t been to see Bucky better, look him up and down closely, Bucky would have thought it was an answer.

“You sure about that?” Steve says, quietly taking that step forward again.

Reaching out, Bucky takes his hand and squeezes. 

“I told you, we’re meant to be.”

The hand Bucky’s holding tightens about his own and pulls, dragging Bucky closer. When Steve wraps him in his arms, he’s relieved and shocked all at once. It might be the future, but they’re in public.

“Bucky Barnes,” Steve keeps his voice soft, intimate, leaning in so there’s no space between them except the same air they both breathe, “are you saying you really did it?”

Dizzy, Bucky asks, “Did what?”

It’s back at once. Secretive and sweet, blooming like sunlight at dawn, Steve smiles at him.

“Rewrite our stars.”

Bucky licks his lips as his gaze flicks to Steve’s before he remembers to look him in the eye.

“For you?” Then Bucky balks and blurts, “I can’t take it. I mean,” he babbles when Steve looks alarmed, “if you leave me. I can’t, Steve. I need all of you, or -”

The answer is a kiss. Hard and quick as Steve’s arms tighten like steel bands about his torso. He presses forward, and Bucky has to lean back, relying on that strong embrace to keep him upright as Steve kisses him for all he’s worth. Bucky hopes he gives as good as he gets, but it’s all too heady for him to be sure.

When Steve relents, pulls back, and loosens his grip, Bucky gasps in the air he’s been denied. He almost thinks he hallucinates the words, “I love you,” that Steve says against his lips. Almost.

“I love you,” Bucky says, squeezing Steve’s forearm. “I’ve missed you, too.”

Steve bites his lip, looks like he wants to start something even Bucky wouldn’t condone in public, and then slowly releases him.

“So show me around your home.”

“Our home,” Bucky corrects, “if we’re…”

“We are,” Steve says. He always knows what Bucky’s thinking.

Taking Steve’s hand, Bucky links their fingers and tugs him toward his hut. It’s taken seventy years, years of torture and pain, but they’ve finally gotten what they deserve - a home, love, and no need to hide how they feel.

“Welcome home, Stevie.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Follow Cleo on Tumblr ](http://cleo4u2.tumblr.com/)


End file.
